Lament
by irukandji
Summary: [Content Warning: Restrictive Eating Disorders & Binge Eating] Famished and abused, survival had seized her and forced her to devour all that was edible. She held no power over her actions, and it seemed unfathomable that she had ever held power over her actions. The sensations of her body did not feel like her own; it was as though she experienced her physical being secondhand.


**Content Warning: Restrictive Eating Disorders & Binge Eating**

[USA] National Eating Disorders Association: 1-800-931-2237  
>[USA] Suicide Hotline: 1-800-SUICIDE or 1-800-273-TALK<br>[Canada] NEDIC Helpline: 1-866-663-4220  
>[UK] Eating Disorder Association Youth Helpline: 011-44-8456-347650<br>[Ireland] Local Helpline: 1890 200 444  
>[Australia] Eating Disorders Victoria Help Line: 1300 550 236<br>More resources available on my profile.

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><p><em>Lament<em>

Miscellaneous, indistinct thoughts flickered through her mind, but they bore no meanings and invoked no feelings. In her disoriented state, she was incapable of comprehending language, and she simply disassembled words into phonemes and pondered how sound could possess any significance. Her skin whined as the chilly air nibbled on her fingers and toes, and her overly glutted stomach groaned, yet she only vaguely acknowledged the discomfort. The sensations of her body did not feel like her own; it was as though she experienced her physical being secondhand, worn and weak.

Her skull throbbed, and her sore eyelids fluttered with each pulse of pain. Crying had made her drowsy, and dizziness made her dreamy. She wondered where she was, why she was there, and who she was; the environment that surrounded her was foreign and puzzling. The answers to her dazed questions gnawed at the edges of her mind, yet she remained unaware; the sensation of simultaneous befuddlement and knowledge was utterly bizarre. Nevertheless, her hazy mind lacked the attentiveness necessary to rationalize her perturbation.

She felt little but the confusion that nudged her thoughts. The knife of her emotions was too dull to penetrate her heart or mind. She was hollow and devoid, experiencing neither negative nor positive sentiments. Oxygen and carbon dioxide flowed through her lungs and lulled her into a sense of peace that was immensely empty.

Ruled by the primitive instincts of survival, her body had exploited her detachment and emptiness; or, her brain, also partially ruled by the primitive instincts of survival, had created the detachment and emptiness to allow her body to rule her. Famished and abused, survival had seized her and forced her to devour all that was edible. Her organs strived to be nourished, and her throat and gag reflex begged to be rested; for a single day, their requests were granted. Inexplicably, her mind offered only a minimal, lethargic protest.

The odd phenomenon of her current being estranged her. She held no power over her actions, and it seemed unfathomable that she had ever held power over her actions. She ate indiscriminately with little hysteria. She tasted food but did not recognize the food: butter melted on her tongue; toast crunched beneath her teeth; oatmeal warmed her lips; smoothies slid across her gums; sodas tickled her throat; cold turkey chilled her cheeks; and peanut butter plastered to the roof of her mouth. She padded to the kitchen stiffly and swiftly, and she raised silverware to her mouth mechanically. Her stomach ballooned and stretched the soft skin of her abdomen, and it never ceased to hunger through the day. Though pained, she was sated. Her body and mind were silent, and she was exhausted.

Tomorrow would be construed of anguish; when she awoke, yesterday's catastrophe would crash into her with madness. In fury and panic she would vow to repent and starve and undo her harrowing crime – and she would fail to. Her body, strengthened and revived, would retaliate with inconceivable ferocity. It would demand to be fed as she had fed it the day before, now cognizant that it was not suffering from an environmental famine and outraged at her deceit. She would plead for starvation; she would sob and wail and shriek, but it would reap nothing. Eventually, she would defeat her body, but the plight to regain control would be agonizing.

Unbeknownst to her, her struggle would arise from the subconscious knowledge that the pain of food was superior to the pain of starvation. Her lack of discipline was healthier than her discipline, and the horrors of her binge were the necessary horrors of sustaining her life. She had tasted a moment of tranquility between her mind and physiological needs. She had eaten for the sake of life with a detachment that numbed her to her disorder, and _she had sampled freedom_. Tomorrow that freedom would be lost, and both her body and mind would lament.

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><p>Author's Note: I apologize for grammar mistakes; I'm fairly incoherent lately, and I wrote this piece in a single night as its rather triggering for me so I don't want to dwell on editing it for multiple days. On a side note, I'm considering re-writing Glass Jar so it can follow my recovery once I begin outpatient.<p> 


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